


Lovers Curse

by TrenchCoat_Paradigm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curses, Destiel - Freeform, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fairy Tale Curses, Friends to Lovers, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Magic, Not What It Looks Like, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex Change, Slow Burn, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchCoat_Paradigm/pseuds/TrenchCoat_Paradigm
Summary: It seemed just like any other job. Saving people. Hunting thing… you know the story. But when Dean comes face to face with what’s taking these people, his life both figuratively and literally gets flipped upside down. The boys are faced with their strangest challenge yet, finding the missing people, ganking the big bad, all while trying to figure out what’s going on with the eldest Winchester. While his brother Sam and their trusted angel Castiel try and find a remedy, Dean seemed to be finding himself. Funny how change alters people’s perceptions... Or, maybe they had been there all along.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While I am a massive fan of Supernatural and its fandom, this is the first major fic I have written about my favourite hunters. (and my favourite ship) This entire fic is greatly inspired by an online manga comic I came across called “I Fucked my Best Friend” (spoilers I guess… ;)). If you know of it, you know what’s to come, if not… stay tuned! 
> 
> Here are the first two chapters, please let me know what you think, I will try to reply back to anyone who comments/ messages me… but I’m a bit slow in the up take so it might take a while lol! 
> 
> The story is set sometime during Season 11. Castiel is still human, one of the side effects if Rowena’s spell reversal. However, this fic has got nothing to do with the cannon of the main story… It just gives you a rough idea. I have no idea how long this will be, I’m only planning a few chapters (maybe 10 or so), but we’ll see. Hope you guys enjoy x x

The harsh midday sun cast rays of light across the woodland floor, the leaves in the tree tops dancing in the wind. Pirouetting shadows across the pine needle floor illuminating the earthy tones of the vegetation around him. “Let’s split up. We’ll cover more ground,” Dean mocked. Sam had always been better at this nature tracking crap. A small twig snapped under foot halting Dean’s progress. He listened, hard. Trying to detect any disturbance his clumsiness may have caused, but all he could fathom was nothing but the rustle of leaves. It was deathly quiet, birds had stopped singing a while ago, all woodland life had seemed to still, quieten, sending Dean’s entire psyche on edge. His gun held tightly in both hands pointing towards the floor, primed and ready to fire at any given notice.

A spate of missing people attracted the brothers to a small town outside Colorado Springs less than a week ago. No bodies had ever been recovered. At least 4 victims, all from different backgrounds, different ages, vanished with in the space of two months. The only connection, they were all male. The latest report came in two days ago, the victim had been attending a bachelor party at a local bar, witnesses said he hooked up with a girl and was last seen with her entering these woods.

You would have thought it would have been simple, find the girl, get the answers. The problem was the description of the ‘accomplice’ changed from report to report. One said she was blonde, one said she was brunette, she was small, she was tall…

…::::::…

_“Shape Shifter?” Dean had asked. Unloading the paper bag with three take out containers. Taking the top one from the pile he placed it beside his brother, who looked like he hadn’t moved from his laptop all night._

_“I don’t know.” Sam replied unconvinced. “The MO doesn’t sit right. There haven’t been any bodies found yet, if it was out killing them they’d would have found something.” He continued to furiously type away at his laptop, research mode fully activated. Completely ignoring the food Dean had graciously bought him. A typical ‘on the road’ Winchester day kick starter. “Whatever this is, it’s seemingly appearing from out of nowhere and luring these men to… wherever.”_

_They were held up in some small-town motel just off the freeway, the kind of place that hadn’t seen a new lick of paint or style change since the 70’s. The room was spacious enough to house two king size beds, small kitchenette, and even smaller bathroom. The boys had stayed in much worse places._

_“Lures them? Like a Siren?” A trench coated arm crossed Dean’s vision as it reached for one of the polystyrene containers. The novelty of seeing Castiel performing such ‘human abilities’ had started to become more normalized to him. Once an Angel of the Lord, a feared Celestial warrior. Now reduced to nothing more than your average Joe. At least he remembered to pick up breakfast for him this time._

_Moving that mornings papers out the way to make room for his breakfast. He pulled out the chair opposite his brother and sat. The pancakes and coffee had gone cold by the time he got them back to the room, but the sight and smell still made his mouth water with anticipation._

_“Again, no bodies.” Sam repeated “At least Sirens have the decency of keeping their victims alive.”_

_“Not necessarily” Castiel added. “Long ago they were feared and dreaded carnivores. Devouring their prey like vultures, preferring to leave their victims after killing and feasting on their rotten flesh.”_

_Dean paused, fork hovering over his pancakes. The thought of rotten flesh infiltrated his mind, making him second guess his breakfast. But with a small shrug he jabbed his fork into the fluffy soft batter, tearing off a piece. “Maybe they reverted to their old ways. Realized it gets more out of killing and eating these poor bastards.” Lifting it to his lips he bit down on the plastic utensil. The sweet maple syrup hitting his taste buds with an explosion of sugary goodness. “Might explain why there’s no bodies.”_

_Sam leaned back from the laptop, shutting it finally. With a defeated sigh he rolled his head back to the ceiling, running too exhausted hands through his long hair, pushing it from his face. “Ok, we check those woods. Maybe we’ll find something.”_

_…::::::…_

And it looked like Dean had just stumbled across that ‘something.’

A clearing lay just ahead of him, 6 trees all identical that somehow looked out of place amongst the rest of the woodland. It marked a perfect circular perimeter. Under the tall canopy of the circle lay nothing but loose dirt and what looked like the remains of a small campfire. Dean holstered his gun as he crept closer. Patterns were drawn across the ground through the dirt. Ritual markings? They were nothing Dean had ever come across before. The forgotten campfire lay cold, the ground blackened within a circle of stones, a few charred remains of branches crumbled at the base. Crouching down he ran his hand through the dirt. It didn’t feel right. Pinching it and rubbing between his fingers, the colour was correct, but the consistency was grittier, like sand. Corse and scratchy. Reaching for his cell and dialling Sam’s number he raised the device to his ear. Sam picked up instantly

“You found something?”

“I think so.” He muttered into the speaker, still examining the ground around him. “Due west of where we split. There’s a small campsite.”

“I’ll find Cas and head your way.” Sam’s reply came before the line cut dead. Lowering the phone, he pocketed it wiping his hand clean on his ripped jeans.

All the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. Something was behind him. He pivoted on one foot, standing full hight, gun withdrawn and raised once again. But his actions were halted by her gaze; she was beautiful. Long silky raven black hair that fell way passed her shoulders and complimented her pale complexion perfectly. Striking blue eyes and dressed in nothing more than a long light cloak. “Why are you following me?” Her voice, sweet, heavenly. Her questioning gaze lingering on Dean’s.

“Pretty sure, I should be asking the questions.” Raising his gun, pointing at her chest. “Who are you?”

She smiled, but Dean didn’t feel comforted, there was something sinister behind that sickly-sweet gesture. “Whoever you want me to be. Handsome.”

“Are you a siren?”

Her head tilted to the side, seemingly amused by his question. “And what makes you say that?” She took a step forward; Dean held his ground, gun still firmly aimed at her chest.

“Oh, I don’t know. The fact you lure men to their deaths”

“I haven’t killed anyone.” She said in an almost laugh, her predatory smile widening.

“Then where are they”

“Oh, around.” She took another deliberate step forward. Dean shifted his gun, aiming it at her face.

“Last chance sweetheart. Who are you? Why are you here?”

The woman froze. Those alluring blues staring right down the barrel of his gun. “Typical men. All guns and aggression. Demanding. Only thinking about themselves.” With a wave of her hand, Dean felt an instant searing pain in his palms. Burning. His gun, it was smouldering, the metal now shimmering as it glowed bright white. The pain was too much, Dean dropped the weapon. Hitting the ground, the metal instantly returned to its original colour. “You all bought this on yourself.” She murmured taking another step forward. Her hand dipped inside her cloak. “Mother earth just wants peace. And I’m going to give it to her.”

Without second-guessing Dean dropped, swiping up his gun and firing. Not a perfect shot, clipping her left shoulder, but enough momentum to make her drop the glass vial she had produced. The shimmering glittering substance exploding on impact with the ground, dissipating into the air around Deans feet. The woman cried out in pain as she cradled her shoulder. Right before Deans eyes, she changed. Her once sensual blue stare turning cold and grey. Her lengthy black locks were now a shimmering silver. She looked haggard, worn, her youthful complexion withering before him, looking like she had aged about 60 years. She snarled primitively as she flicked both hands up and blasted Dean backwards. Sending him through the air and slamming into a tree. Hitting his head hard against the trunk and knocking him out cold.

…:::::…

“Dean? Dean?!”

Sam’s voice broke through a fog of darkness. His eyes flickering open, adjusting to the bright light, mixing the greens and natural colours of the woodland floor into a blurry haze.

Pain. That’s all Dean could register right now. His head, his back. His entire body feeling like he had been subject to a pummelling. Face down in the dirt, lungs full of the taste of soil. He pushed himself up trying to take stock of his injuries. Instant pain shot through his chest cavity. Fairly sure it was a cracked rib somewhere on his left side. He managed to push himself up one armed to a seating position, resting against the same trunk for support. The back of his head contacted the wood and his scalp seared with pain. Reaching around to the back of his short hair line, he felt the warm and sticky residue. Blood, no surprise there. Casually wiping it off on his jeans, he noticed something unusual.

Suddenly forgetting how to breathe, his hands rose slowly to clutch at his chest.

Breasts?

He felt cold, numb. Like he had been dunked into freezing water. Suddenly his aches and pains didn’t seem so bad anymore. He held them in his shaking hands, pressing them together as if trying to establish their reality. They certainly felt real. This was a dream right, it had to be. A concussion induced hallucination. Unbuttoning the first few buttons of his dark shirt he pulled the garment forward. His once toned masculine chest had been replaced. His protection tattoo sitting perfectly atop his left _breast_. Alarm welling up inside him, as the icy grip of fear crawled up his spine. _‘Cool it Winchester. This isn’t real, it’s a hallucination or some shit.’_ His shaking hands fell away as he began to hyperventilate. The crushing burning pain returning to his chest again. Reminding him that his ribs were still a cause for concern. And yet at this very moment, it was the furthest thing on his mind.

“Dean?!” Sam’s voice sounded a lot closer now and much more desperate. No doubt startled by the gunshot. Could hear his giant sasquatch feet stomping through the under growth.

His vision still blurred, only making out colours and vague fuzzy shapes. But he still managed to call out. “S- Sammy.” Surely it was his ears playing tricks, head jumbled from a concussion maybe. But he swore his voice sounded… higher pitched? Like a– _‘Don’t say it!’_

The thrashing through the undergrowth halted, as an eery quiet fell over the woodland floor. “D-Dean?” Sam was practically on top of him now, his unsure voice coming somewhere from his right.

“Over here.” His voice, what was wrong with his voice? The panic started to swell in his chest. His shaking hands reaching to clutch at his throat. But halted as he gazed at long slender feminine fingers, bending each digit individually at the knuckle. It felt like some strange outer bodied experience, he could control everything, every movement, every word. But this was not his body. “S-S-Sammy!” he yelled, the panic rising up his throat in a bubble and bursting.

Thundering through the undergrowth his brother came crashing into the clearing mere feet away from him; gun raised pointed straight at Dean’s face. “Who are you?” he asked. Eyes scanning his hunkered body as he side stepped around the tree to face his brother head on.

“Are you nuts?! Don’t point that thing at me!” Dean remarked, the panic making his new voice even squeakier.

“Where’s my brother?”

“Sam! It’s me!”

He didn’t move. Didn’t lower his gun, not even a little. His scowl deepened, eyes narrowed. That same confident look he gets when he’s face to face with some big evil. He took a tentative step closer, kicking Dean’s gun away and out of reach. Not that Dean could have reached for it anyway. He exhaled a pained breath, the sudden push of air making his chest twinge in anguish again, making him finally acknowledge the pain and clutching at his side, giving Sam a moment of pause.

He looked to his brother for help, almost pleading with him to recognise him. Grabbing the collar of his flannel, he pulled it to the side flashing him the identical tattoo they shared. As the penny dropped, Sam’s cold demeaner morphed with a wave of emotions. Confusion, as he finally lowered his gun, his stare flicking from the ink pentagram to his brother’s emerald green eyes. Standing tall and rigid, fear flicked across his face as his jaw slowly fell. Holstering his gun, he was at his brothers’ side in an instant, “O-ok. D-don’t panic.”

An unsteady huff of an almost sarcastic laugh brushed passed his lips in a pant of warm air, the cotton fabric slipping from his shaking grasp. “Don’t Panic!?” he repeated. “DON’T PANIC!? I’M A FUCKING CHICK!!” He shrieked. His voice echoing through the trees, causing nearby birds to scatter from branches sending them high into the sky. Sam wincing slightly at Dean’s outburst.

Hands poised; Sam hovered over him. Unsure where to place them exactly as his frantic gaze pinballs across his body. “Can you move? Anything broken?”

“Rib’s, pretty banged up,” he grunted trying to shift his weight, “Hit my head hard. Oh, and I’m a woman!!”

“Dean, just calm down, ok. I-it might just be temporary.”

“… MIGHT?!”

Rustling of bushes drew the brother’s attention to the furthest side of the clearing. Sam was on his feet again, gun raised shielding Dean protectively. However, his shoulders relax and gun lowers when a familiar voice calls through the leaves. “Sam?!”

Dean’s lips twitched into a small smile, the familiar monotone affliction was like music to his ears. Sure enough, the flash of that tanned trench coat came into vision as Castiel wandered into the clearing. His cheeks dusted with a pink hue and bending forward slightly, gasping for air as he doubled over in front of them, hands atop his thighs. “I came as fast as I could.” He said between breaths, finally standing up straight. “I heard a gunshot and shouting and… Where’s Dean?” standing to attention as he surveyed the surroundings.

“Hey Cas.” He flicked a small wave towards their friend. The Angel studied him, his scowl knitting deeper. His head lolling slightly to the right, looking every bit the confused puppy Dean always saw him as.

His brother’s arm hooked around him, helping him gingerly to his feet. With one hand gripping Sam’s shirt the other found the tree trunk, needing that extra support. He felt like he was on spaghetti legs. His ribs giving more grief than he originally thought, he let slip a pained hiss as he rested against the bark, an intense hot pain traveling from the area of impact throughout his entire upper body.

“You’re hurt.” Cas seemed to be at his side in a flash. His question startling him as his gruff voice came up beside him.

“No shit.” he grunted. Hand returning to his injured ribs. “Those markings in the dirt.” Dean mentioned, trying his hardest to get the attention off him. “You seen them before?” His brother seemed puzzled for a moment, forgetting the reason he was even here. Sam step back, finally looking away from Dean surveying the campsite unsure whether he saw anything at all. But his scowl softened as he crouched down, surveying the dirt at his feet. Running a finger over one of the markings as if tracing it to memory. “There all round the campfire.” Sam hopped to his feet, moving a short distance to the next marking. Performing the same ritual again.

“What are these Cas?” Sam looked towards the angel for help, but his concentration lay on the older Winchester. Wide blue eyes continued to look over Dean in a sway of worry. Taking him much longer to realise that Sam had asked him a question.

He tore himself away from Dean’s side to be with Sam, assessing the ground also. His brow crinkled in puzzlement, “I’ve never seen this before.”

 _‘Terrific.’_ Dean’s head rested against the trunk, looking up into the branches. The cut on the back of his head only barely registering, his body too concentrated on the fear that’s slowly devoured him and the scorching anguish of his ribs. The sun cracked through the heavy leaves in a broken pattern, almost peaceful. The wind rattled the leaves, rustling them in a cacophony of noise and movement, but in amongst the familiar woodland sound came something out of place. A hollow jangle, something akin to wooden windchimes. Up high on a branch Dean spotted it. It was definitely some kind of mobile, and with no surprise, it seemed to be made from bones. The distinct skull of a raven was the most noticeable from Dean’s vantage point. With more bones of all shapes and sizes spindling off a triangular wooden frame, catching on the wind.

“Sam. Up there.” he grunted, pointing upwards towards the decoration. Phone poised over one of the markings taking a picture Sam raised his head. Dusting himself down he wandered over to his brother, looking up at the direction he was pointing. “Can you reach it?”

“I’m not that tall.” he quipped, raising his phone and snapping another picture. “I think it’s just animal bones”

“Silver linings I guess.” Finally feeling brave enough to push from the tree, Dean staggered forward a few inches. Castiel studying gaze flicked upwards, he was crouched by the fire, trench coat billowing around him, but while he didn’t move from his position his attention was very much fixed on Dean. He tried to ignore the staring as he too considered the ground, the array of strange markings, the abandoned campfire. But as his eyes trailed down, the sight of two presently rounded breasts caught his attention first. And suddenly the fear was at his for mind again. His hands raised for examination once again and his legs gave way.

Sam was there. Swooping in, catching him before he hit the ground. “We should get back to the motel.”

Dean wanted to protest. _‘I’m fine Sammy!’_ but as he tried to open his mouth, nothing came out. Not even a squeak. Feeling the worry emanating from both his partners only adding to his own anxiety.


	2. Chapter 2

“… and then I woke up like this.” Dean gestured with his free hand, swiping down his _new_ body as Sam and Castiel both studied him. Each possessing a look that equally irritated and worried him. Until this moment Dean’s ‘condition’ was very much the elephant in the room. Everyone could see it, but nobody wanted to bring it up. And Dean was perfectly happy with that arrangement. Keeping things bottled up always had been the Winchester way. But that was before he reached for the Jack Daniels, now the fool was singing like a damn canary. He took another deep drink from the bottle, trying to avoid either of their stares.

At least they were back at the motel now, even though both men insisted Dean get himself checked out by a doctor. But he (as per usual) point blank refused. Preferring the privacy of their room to lick his wounds, heal up, and head back out to kill the son of a bitch that did this too him.

“Did she say anything else?” Sam asked. Sitting on the opposite bed watching his brother with gauging interest. Elbows pressed to the tops of his thighs, studying him like one of his damn library books. Castiel not too far behind, standing awkwardly at the foot of Sam’s bed.

Dean shook his head with a scoff. “like what Sammy? Where’s the best place to buy bras?” He jested knocking back another large mouthful. The Jack was supposed to be for the pain, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything for his banged-up ribs or nagging headache. Instead it was just making him more and more inebriated, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Sam scowled; his lips pressed into a hard line. “I’m just trying to help Dean. The more information we got th-”

“I know, I know-” He sighed loudly. Pressing the thick squared bottle to his forehead. “-The better chance we got at ganking this thing. You don’t gotta tell me twice.” He grumbled, regretting the quick movement of his arm, as pain flared up across his back and through his chest once again. Trying his hardest to hide the wince in the shadow of the bottle.

“Dean you need to get that checked out.” Sam insisted. “Make sure you’ve not broke a rib or something. Plus, you get real bitchy when you’re hurt”

“Oh right, sure blame the pain…” Dean grumbled, “it’s got nothing to do with the fact I’m now the proud owner of a new pair of C-cups!”

“Boys,” Castiel intervened. His flat calming tone halting their argument. “Squabbling isn’t going to help the situation.” Pushing himself off the bed Sam stood, running both hands through his hair as he paced the small room. “Sam is right though Dean. You should see a doctor-”

“I’m fine, Cas.” he interjected “Nothin’ a quart of Jack and some sleep can’t fix.” As if to hammer home the point, he took another deliberate shot of whisky. “I’ll be right as rain tomorrow… Well…” he looked down at his newly formed chest. _“Kinda”_

Sam made a noise. A dry _‘huh,’_ matched with a determined look etched on his face. Within a few long strides he’s back at the kitchenette table. Laptop flipped open, typing intensely at the keys. “What?” Dean asked his hope spiking, he knew that look. His brother was on to something.

“One of the victims… I overlooked it before, thought nothing- Ah!” he called out as his eureka moment seemed to be coming to fruition, a slow wide smile stretching across his face. “The day one of the guys was reported missing, his girlfriend called into his work. Claiming he was sick. What if it wasn’t his girlfriend.” Sam looked up from the laptop and to his brother. “What if there not missing at all, there jus’… well…” Sam fumbled on the word, his eyes flittered over Dean.

“Women?” Castiel affirmed.

Sam nodded slowly; his attention returning to his laptop. “I’ll do some more digging. See what I can find.”

“A cure. Cure would be an awesome thing to find.” Dean added, taking another swig of whisky.

Sam nodded, ignoring the sarcastic nature of Dean’s comment. “First we gotta figure out what _this_ is. Wish we were back at the bunker. That library would be a big help right now.”

“I can go back.” Castiel said moving closer to Sam, hovering over his shoulder to stare at the screen. “Give me a list of what you’ll need, and I’ll see what I can find.”

The pair delved into conversations about books and scriptures that Sam might need, and Dean began to lose focus. Their conversation dissolving into background white noise. With the bottle held tightly in his hand, he let his head dip forward, resting his forehead atop his knuckles and closing his eyes. His pounding headache was now verging into migraine territories. His chest still suffering with no signs of slowing, every breath feeling like he was taking in a lung full of fire. But at least he was slightly buzzed. He heard movement from the far side of the room, but did nothing to investigate it, content with just sitting and stewing in his own pain and misery. Moments later something hit Dean’s knee. Opening his eyes, he saw a small orange pill bottle lying between his slightly parted legs.

“At least take those” Sam advised, placing a tumbler of water on the nightstand that shared the two beds. “With this. Not this.” Yanking the Jack Daniels bottle from his hand.

“Hey!” Dean protested but Sam just ignored him. Carrying it with him back over to his laptop, placing it with a heavy thump onto the small table. “You shouldn’t steal a man’s liquor. People have died for less.” Begrudgingly Dean reached for the container. Their drug supply was low, only resorting to use them in dire circumstances, Dean was pretty sure this was not one of those times, but he wasn’t going to argue the fact. _‘_ _Tramadol. At least it’s the good stuff.’_ Popping the cap, Dean deposited one pill into his palm and tossed it back, swallowing it dry. He could feel the gritty pill dissolving in the back of his throat, reaching for the water to chase the horrid bitter taste away. But once again the sudden movement caused his body to convulse in agony. He grunted, fighting through the pain to reach the glass, mentally cussing Sam for putting it so far out of his reach.

“…ok, I’ll start with sick day guy and go from there.” Sam pushed back from his chair crossing the room to his duffle bag.

“Where you goin’?” Dean asked, watching his brother Lift the bag and place it on the foot of his bed.

“Talk to the guy’s boss. See what he can tell me. Get an address, try and track him down.” Removing the smart black slacks and white button down from the bag Sam changed quickly.

“I’m coming too” Dean grunted, shifting his weight on the bed to a more upright position.

“You’re kidding, right?!” he scoffed, pausing halfway through buttoning his shirt staring incredulously at his brother. “Dude, you can barely walk. I’ll be back in a few hours. Just, rest up.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Dean argued, trying his hardest to manoeuvre off the bed, the best he got was swinging his legs off the mattress, soles of his socked feet meeting the grimy motel carpet before the pain struck once again, wincing at his discomfort.

Sam snorted with a shake of his head, finishing off the remaining buttons. “Yeah, you’re really convincing me right now.” His hand delved into the bag again producing a silk burgundy tie. Popping the collar, he wove it around his neck. Turning his back on Dean with one swift movement, he addressed Castiel. “Keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

He really hated that he was being babied right now. Wanting nothing more than to get up, go out and feel somewhat normal. Dean hung his head, trying to take even steady breaths, breathing through the pain. With Sam appropriately suited, he swiped the impala keys of the kitchen table and headed to the door. “Can I at least have my Jack.” Dean grumbled, head raising slightly to consider his brothers stern expression.

“No.”

And with that, he was gone, the motel door shutting behind him. The Rev of Baby’s engine in the parking lot rumbled into life, and slowly faded away as she drove off into the distance. Dean lowered his head again, gripping the side of the mattress with both hands waiting for this new wave of pain to subside. He really wished these meds would kick in, so he could chase down Sam and kick his ass. Or at least get to his whisky.

“Dean.” Castiel’s gruff voice broke the silence of the room causing Dean to look up. He was sitting at the spare chair in the kitchenette. Hands knitted together resting on the tables wooden surface. “you should let someone see to your injuries”

Dean sighed heavily; he really didn’t want to have this conversation. Again. “Cas…” he began, but the angel cut him off.

“If you refuse to see a doctor then let me-” He insisted rising from his chair and heading towards him. “-I’ve healed you both enough times now to know when there is something seriously wrong.”

Dean scoffed. _‘Something was seriously wrong alright.’_ His hand instinctively ran across his chest, feeling very unsettled every time his palm came into contact with them. He had been doing it more and more since they returned from the forest. Not just his chest, running fingers down his arms, across his face. “If it will make you feel better, then knock yourself out.” He gruffed. Trying to sit up straighter as the pain subsided slightly.

Dean began to unbutton his shirt. It was perfectly normal for him to slip off his shirt and let Castiel take a look, not the first time he’s done so. However, this time, Dean felt incredibly self-conscious. His hands poised hovering over one particular button. A button that sat between dignity and giving Cas his own private peep show. He opted for a different tactic, starting from the bottom, working his way up before meeting _that_ button, deciding to keep it fastened.

The weight on the bed dipped behind him, and Dean felt his breaths coming short. Was he nervous? Why did this feel so… weird? Uncomfortable knots tightened in his stomach as Dean reached for his shirt, trying to roll it up. Wanting to see the damage himself more than anything. A soft cool hand lay atop his. “Let me.” Castiel’s voice was a husky whisper in his ear, making Dean freeze instantly.

Dean was no stranger to Castiel’s closeness, while his personal space boundaries had been an issue once upon a time, these days Dean welcomed it. Like an odd sense of familiarity. They had always shared a unique bond, anyone with a pair of eyes could see it. So many people would make jokes, comments about their ‘unusual friendship’. But Dean would laugh it off, think it just some big prank always more concerned about Cas’s reaction, but thankfully he was pretty sure the jokes went over his sweet little head. Probably not even realising what he was doing was deemed inappropriate. But now, he didn’t care. Dean relished in the closeness, enjoyed the hugs that lingered just a little but longer than they should. He just felt better when he was around. Like there close-nit little family wasn’t complete without their brooding angel.

Castiel’s touch was beyond gentle, feeling like velvet against his skin. Much softer than Sam’s ham-fisted tendencies. Pulling the garment as far from his skin as possible before lifting it up to gain a better look, the sudden cold air to his heated skin sent shivers pimpleing across his arms. Holding the shirt to his shoulder Cas’s cool fingers travelled over the soreness, but there was little to no pain, some discomfort of course, but his cooling fingers felt like a refreshing distraction. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, voice soft, almost tender. And Dean was immediately sent back in time to the last place they had been this close, this intimate. Purgatory.

Dean was convinced the time they spent their brought them even closer than before. The three of them (Benny included) had to share everything, from food to shelter, and even warmth. The pair would spend most nights huddled together for warmth, with Dean noticing more than on one occasion he would wake to Castiel spooning him while he slept. He never mentioned it, in fact he was more than grateful.

…::::::…

_After a trying day, Dean, Cas and Benny were hunkered down in a cave somewhere. Benny on look out, his long shadow cast from the caves entrance while Dean and Castiel hid further into the shadows. A small fire lit beside them for warmth as Cas examined his body._

_Dean got nicked by a jagged rock. A deep harsh looking wound carved into his inner thigh that didn’t seem to want to stop bleeding. He felt tired, weak, the loss of blood making him extremely lightheaded. He remembers Cas pinning his cheeks between his palms, fierce blues scowling at him darting across his features, could see his mouth moving, but hearing nothing._

_With his eyes firmly locked on Deans, he felt a pained amount of pressure on the wound. And then warmth, spreading across his leg, throughout his body. Dean’s breaths felt more stabilized, not pained rattled pants, but slow and steady. His vision was becoming clearer, hearing finally reconnecting with his brain. Castiel was crouching over him, straddling his thighs, handheld firmly in place atop the bloodied rip in his jeans, the faint glow emanating from his palm. Dean panted, a short spell of expressed air. His hand was one tiny move away from his most private area. “Am I hurting you?” he had asked, not understanding the significance. But all Dean could muster was a shake of his head. His eyes never leaving the back of Cas’s hand._

…::::::…

“No” Dean huffed in reply, a rye smile tweaking his lips at the memory. “Although, I could really use your magic mojo fingers right about now.” Fingers continued to examine, gliding effortlessly over the bruising sending more pleasant tingling goose bumps across his back and shoulders. Even though Dean could see the bruising wrapping round to the front of his chest. Cas never investigated nor did he question it further. On any other occasion, this wouldn’t be an issue, but it was almost as if he was minding his manners. Conscientious of Dean's privacy.

“Believe me Dean, if I could, I would have done it back at the forest.” His finger encountered a particularly sore nodule making Dean gasp and flinch. Castiel retracting his hand in an instant. “Sorry.”

Dean huffed. “s’okay”

“I didn’t feel anything broken.” He said, rolling the shirt down gently. “Maybe when the swelling subsides, I can take another look. How’s your headache?”

“s’fine.” Dean said. Even though it felt like a marching band of elephants was stomping through his frontal lobe. “Think I jus’ need some sleep.”

“Sleep is probably not wise if you have head trauma.” Cas acknowledged, the bed seemingly shifting with his weight again. “Is there anything else you want me to examine?”

He thought by now he would be used to Castiel’s accidental innuendos, but this one took him by surprise. The dry huskiness of his tone, the close proximity the pair shared, plus the fact the man just had his hands all over him, made Dean chuckle dryly. “You been watching those naughty films again Cas?”

“What films?” He asked. Without even looking, he could see that deadpanned blue eyed stare, knew there was a charmingly confused scowl bunching at his brow. So innocent.

“Ner’mind.” His amused smile faltered as movement behind him shook the bed. Castiel wandered through the room, taking up residence on Sam’s bed, sitting in a similar manor to Dean. Back straight looking at the eldest hunter.

“Are you sure you’re ok Dean?” Dean opened his mouth to speak but Castiel beat him to the punch, raising his hand to silence him. “I don’t mean your injuries.” Dean studied him, his brow furrowing. “I know you don’t like talking about your “ _… feelings_.” Sam might not understand what you’re going through right now, but, if anyone knows what it’s like to be stuck in a body that’s not your own… I’m here for you.” Dean blinked before dropping his gaze, his slender fingers wrapped into tight balls atop his lap. Castiel’s hand filtered into view; his cool palm covered one of the tight fists of frustration. Had Cas’s hands always been that big? “We can fix this Dean, we’ll make it right.”

He sat there in silence trying to push back his drunken negative emotions. _‘You don’t know that. How can you possibly know that?’_ “Think I might take a shower.” He said finally, breaking the silence and trying to push up from the bed, his ribs however had other ideas, as the searing pain once again wrecked his body. Thankfully they didn’t seem as bad as before, at least the pain pills were working.

Castiel was at his side, hands hooking under his elbow to help him stand. “Keep the door unlocked. If you fall, I don’t want to have to break the door down to come and rescue you.”

A small smile tweaked the hunter’s lips. “When did you become such a smart ass?”

“I learnt from the best.”

Dean surprisingly did as he was told and left the bathroom door unlocked. He reached over the bath to adjust the faucet plumbed into the wall, water exploding out the large silver showerhead above him. As the room rapidly filled with steam, he tentatively undressed. Finally popping that last button of his flannel, he rolled the garment from his shoulders, trying to not aggravate his bruising too much.

Until this point, Dean had gone through much of the day thinking this was all just a bad dream. That he’ll wake up any minute now, back in his room in the sanctity of the bunker, spooning his pillow, face down in a puddle of his own drool. But the crippling fear of reality was worse than any bad dream he had experienced. His stomach took an uneasy lurch, swiping his palm across the frosted mirror, needing to see what everyone else saw.

To his surprise, at first glance he still looked like him. Tired, bloodshot emerald green eyes stared back at him, light dusting of freckles still graced the bridge of his nose, even his hair was still styled in the same way it always had been. His nose seemed slimmer however, his lips and eyelashes looking much fuller. His fathers squared jaw line was now softened, rounded, matching his mothers.

Tearing his eyes from the small mirror, Deans gaze cast downwards and was almost certain he was going to puke. His newly formed breasts looked perky, chipper. On anyone else, Dean would have found them enduring. But on him, it was 100% nightmare fuel. His bruising however looked nasty. A heavy blackish purple colour nearly taking over the entire left-hand side of his body. No wonder he was in so much pain. Stretching up into his armpit, around his back and nesting under his _boob_ , finishing just before his hip. His newly shaped hips. Where is men cut jeans hung from, not fitting him as snuggly as they once had done. In fact, even his shirt had felt baggier.

Popping open the fly of his jeans he pushed them to the ground, removing them along with his socks. Gripping the sink for balance and cursing at the sting in his ribs. Those familiar black boxer briefs not looking as full as they usually would. He almost didn’t look, quite happy to step into the shower still wearing underpants just to be done with it. He knows its not there, he doesn’t need to look to know that. But the curiosity gets the better of him. He does it quickly, like ripping off a band aid and steps under the warm torrent of water. The quick motions adding more grief to his aching ribs.

Rocking his head back he lets his eyes close, his face repeatedly struck by the pouring water. He stood there for a moment, basking in the comfort and the familiar feeling of a nice hot shower. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t even want to look. But he knew… he had to.

Dropping his head back down, but keeping his eyes tightly shut, he rose his hand and let it travel over trimmed pubic hair. Letting his fingers move further south. The folds were an all too recognizable feeling, and yet, felt completely alien. His hand whipped away instantly like he had been bitten.

He finally let his eyes open, the corners stinging. “Fuck,” he whispered angrily to the wall. Teeth ground together, pressing his palm hard against the tiles. Feeling lightheaded again, he let himself drop forward, his forehead meeting the wall watching his (now seemingly smaller) feet.

The water around him had a pinkish hue to it. He rubbed vigorously at the back of his head with one hand, ignoring the burning pain cut to the back of his skull. The water quickly gaining more depth in colour, now a striking red as the dried blood washed from his hair. Swirling around the drain before disappearing out of sight. All the while Cas’s words ringing like a prayer through his mind.

_“We’ll fix this. We’ll fix this. We’ll fix this.”_


End file.
